


Wishful Thinking

by rufeepeach



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-25 19:59:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17127797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rufeepeach/pseuds/rufeepeach
Summary: In the heat of the moment, Belle suddenly lies and tells her disapproving father that she married her employer, Mr Gold. Who is standing right beside her, having had no warning that this would occur. And, of course, they decide to make the best of it. Rumbelle fake!married AU.





	Wishful Thinking

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the 2018 Rumbelle Secret Santa, for the lovely magicalgiven on Tumblr. The prompt was "What do you mean, married?!" I took it a bit literally.

"What do you mean, married?!"

Moe French's face was turning a dangerous shade of umber. Mr Gold, who had met the man mere minutes ago and formed an instantly poor opinion, found himself in uncomfortable agreement. He had come into the evening expecting to be tired and annoyed within seconds. He had not expected to be blindsided by his shop assistant, who was now glancing between her employer and her father as if she couldn’t believe what she’d just said. 

Gold attended the Storybrooke City Council Christmas Gala, an annual and terrible tradition, for the sole purpose of reminding everyone present who was actually in charge. He would circle the room a handful of times, intimidate or ingratiate where necessary, and leave before the canapes were half finished. It was a free opportunity to remind everyone that mattered that Christmas was no reason to think a rent extension or interest-free loan was in the offing. 

He had never once enjoyed himself at one of these parties. But then, until last year Belle French had been in Boston, studying. This year, he had a shop assistant for the first time in the shop's thirty year history, and he had inexplicably accepted when she had offered to come with him this evening. 

As a matter of fact, until the oaf before them had approached, he had been really rather enjoying himself standing in a secluded corner of the party people-watching with Belle. She had a surprisingly sharp wit for one so warm and kind, and he had even caught himself laughing once or twice. Perhaps, had the night proceeded smoothly and he had had a few more drinks, he might even have asked her to dance. 

Belle had been as surprised as he when they were rudely interrupted by two angry Australian men who had clearly barged in without invitation. But then, she had been under the - apparently mistaken - belief that her father was still in Australia, his flight not due to land until the following day. Apparently he had decided to change his flight, unexpectedly. He’d thought it would be a surprise.

Well, that part at least had worked out. 

Belle had thrown her arms around him, genuinely happy to see him. They had been briefly introduced, some smalltalk about flights and the party had been made, and all had seemed well with the world. Then Moe’s apparent companion, a young man with broad shoulders and an affable if empty smile had approached, and Belle’s entire demeanour had changed.

It was at that moment that Belle had blurted, inexplicably, that it was such a shame the man had flown all this way to see her, because she was married now.

Gold had been as shocked as anyone else. So, it seemed, had Belle, although she was scrambling to recover from her own insane lie.

"That's right, papa," Belle said, firmly, as if she were stating an obvious truth rather than a ridiculous lie. "We... ah... we eloped. Didn't we, darling?"

Belle's bright blue eyes were pleading with him. Moe, Belle, and the hulking young man, were all staring at him. He had half a mind to break the habit of a lifetime and tell the truth. Who did the girl think she was, making up such wild stories about her employer and expecting him to acquiesce? They were friendly enough and had been having a good time tonight, but this was surely beyond the pale. Who did she think he was, assuming he would corroborate such lies without a word of explanation, apology, or bribery?

Her hand came to rest on his arm. A shiver ran down his spine.

A goddamn fool, apparently. And she would be entirely correct.

"Yes, Mr French. Your daughter has has done me the great honour of becoming my wife.”

"Your what?!"

"You heard him, papa," Belle said, returning her gaze to her father, her voice a strained mix of triumph and raw panic. “This is my husband, I’m so… uh… happy that you two are finally meeting!”

Gold looked down at the top of her dark head, and wondered what in God's name had gotten into her. She had been known to be somewhat impulsive, yes, but he had thought that it extended to offering discounts to old dears perusing their jewellery selection, not to making up wild lies on the spur of the moment. He'd certainly never imagined she'd be so bad at lying. He didn't know it was possible for Belle to be bad at anything.

He'd also never known her to act without good reason. Impulsive and far too clever by half she may be, but her actions always made sense in retrospect. If she was telling such tales to her own father, she had to have a good reason.

She also desperately needed rescue before her tongue tied itself in a knot. Belle may be brighter, kinder, and more beautiful by far than Gold had ever been, but he had a talent for dishonesty at the very lease.

Moe's eyes had narrowed with apoplectic rage, darting between his wilful daughter and her glaring employer.

Purposefully, Gold placed his hand on the small of Belle's back. “Lovely to meet you at last, Mr French,” he said, cordially. He held out a hand for Moe to shake. Moe looked at him as if he’d proffered a live snake. 

"This isn't true," Moe snarled. "I’ve no idea what this old man has over you, my girl, but there is no way my daughter would marry a disgusting old creep without even telling her own father!”

Belle winced and recoiled. “He’s not a - papa, just listen!”

“No, this is ridiculous,” Moe shook his head. “You’re not married, I don’t believe it.”

“I am married, papa! I’m married to a wonderful man who makes me happy!”

Gold wondered who on earth she was referring to. Some concocted version of him, he assumed, the mythical Mr Right who existed in his head. He was the cardboard stand-in, but if she would keep touching him, he would happily allow it. 

"Mr French, I must ask that you stop harassing my wife." Gold tried, oh he tried, not to focus on or enjoy the taste of referring to Belle in that way. It was a ridiculous notion, a daydream that could only cause more harm than good if he allowed himself to dwell on it. It still felt perversely wonderful to pretend. 

He already looked forward to the days she worked in his shop, when she'd come through the door and her smile would light the whole gloomy place. Her soft, floral perfume replaced decades of dust and decay, her bright voice could chase away years of silence. The thought of seeing her every day, of her lighting up the rest of his life the way she did his shop, was too lovely and too impossible to contemplate.

The warmth of her against his hand was burning his skin. He would be branded with her, as if his pathetic soul hadn’t belonged to her for months anyway. 

"I will speak to my daughter however I please," Moe snarled. "C'mon Belle-"

"Papa, I already told you, I'm happily married, and I’m not going anywhere."

"You were single the last time we spoke!" Moe snapped.

"And now she very much isn't," Gold grinned, enjoying this charade far too much. His first impressions were very rarely incorrect, and it appeared he had judged the red-faced buffoon correctly at a glance. 

"I knew it was a mistake letting you stay in the States," Moe spat. "You're moving home with me where I can keep an eye on you."

Gold’s jaw tightened. Belle was of course free to go where she pleased, but if anyone, even her own father, thought they could drag her away without her consent, they would have Gold to answer to. 

"No I'm not, papa," Belle said, firmly. Her hands were shaking, balled into fists, but her voice was calm and clear. 

"Well you're not shacking up with him any longer," Moe blustered. “I’ll see to that much, anyway. If you need money, Belle, or- or-”

"This is fucking ridiculous," the tall young man beside Moe muttered. His accent matched Moe and Belle's - another Australian. "Look at him, Belles! No one in their right mind would think you were actually married to this old man."

Belle rolled her eyes, but Gold saw the way her nails bit into her palms. Her whole body had tightened when he’d started speaking - he was clearly upsetting her even more than her father. Who was this man? What in the world could cause Belle, who had a kind word and a genuine smile for everyone, to grit her teeth with such obvious hatred?

What had this bastard done to her?

"Gary, please don't take this the wrong way, but get out before I call the cops."

"Gary flew all this way for you, sweetheart," Moe said, and Gold didn't know which was less appealing: Moe furious, or Moe wheedling. "At least give the poor boy a chance."

"She's made her choice already, Mr French," Gold flashed his nastiest grin. He looked down at her, and for once didn’t make any effort to hide how he felt for her, allowing his stupid adoration to show over his face on the pretense of acting. "Haven't you, love?"

Belle looked up at him, shock and genuine gratitude at war on her lovely face. Her eyes flicked between meeting his gaze and staring at his mouth, and had Gold not been too distracted by her beauty he might have guessed at what came next.

"Too right I have," she muttered.

Gold's whole body went into shock when Belle leaned up on her tiptoes, slid both slender hands into his hair, and pressed her soft lips against his.

For a moment, all he could do was stand there, motionless and stunned. Belle French was kissing him. Belle French, his employee. Belle French, whose bright blue eyes kept him awake at night. Belle French, the woman he was halfway in love with and who was completely out of reach.

Her mouth was impossibly soft and warm. His hand on her lower back burned. Her fingers in his hair felt divine, and a ridiculous part of him almost wanted to purr at the sensation of her nails against his scalp. Everything he’d dreamed of for months was happening at once, and he didn’t know what to do when the fantasy had suddenly, impossibly, become reality. 

His confusion cleared a split second later. Immediately, he was kissing her back. He captured a small, surprised moan in the back of her throat when he opened his lips against hers, eager to taste her. He caressed her mouth with his, wrapped his arms around her waist and tried to pour all of his suppressed adoration into this one act. 

To his surprise, she melted against him, allowing him to coax her mouth open and deepen the kiss. She tasted like mulled wine and sugar, and he couldn't get enough. Her tongue teased at his, giving as good as she got. Gold felt fireworks bursting up his spine as he clutched at her, for just a moment, he forgot where he was. 

As suddenly as it had begun, it ended. Belle pulled back, her hands sliding from his hair to his shoulders. Gold stared at her, dazed and confused. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips swollen and shiny. Her breath was coming heavier, and she stumbled as she stepped back, as if she were as addled by their kiss as he was. He'd done that to her. His kiss.

She cleared her throat, and returned to the pair who were gaping at them. Gold only then remembered what was happening, and why. He schooled his expression into his customary stony mask.

Belle was talking. He felt her arm come around his waist, and heard her say "Can't you just be happy for me, papa?"

Moe's meaty hand reached out and grabbed Belle's arm, trying to physically pry them apart. Gold felt himself respond before his mind had caught up: the handle of his cane hit Moe's wrist, and he tugged hard, yanking him away.

"I think it best you leave now, Mr French," Gold snarled. "Before I do something I regret."

"There's something not right about this," Moe retorted, hauling his hand away from Gold's cane. Belle was halfway into Gold's arms at this point, and for the first time in his life, Gold felt himself the protector. Belle recoiled her hand and looked at her father in horror.

"What isn't right, Mr French, is a man laying hands on his own child. She has made her choice. You'd be wise to respect it."

"I don't know what this… beast has on you, my girl," Moe said, and Gold felt not a shred of sympathy or pity for the wobble in the man's voice. "But I won't see you shackled to him."

"Papa-"

Moe stormed away before Belle could finish her sentence. Gary glared at the pair of them, but followed suit.

Belle visibly sagged with relief, stepping out of Gold's arms. "Thank you," she breathed.

He didn't respond. He didn't know how to. It seemed she had enough to say on her own, however, as she sprang back from him as if his hand on her back had burned her.

"I... god, I'm so sorry for springing that on you, Mr Gold!" her face had turned a really rather attractive shade of beetroot, and her hands flew to cover her mouth. "I'm so sorry, I practically threw myself at you! Oh god, I'm so embarrassed. I don't know what came over me. I didn't mean anything by it, I swear," she babbled, and Gold felt it as his hopes - ridiculous and inflated as they had been despite his best efforts - crumpled. "I just..."

Gold watched as realisation - horror - at what she had done dawned on her. She was staring at him with wide eyes, waiting for his response. For the monster of Storybrooke to sack her for insubordination, perhaps, or exact some terrible price for his compliance. Their kiss had been one of the highlights of his otherwise dark and miserable existence. He had known there would be a price to pay for it, and he gladly paid it, the fall coming immediately and inevitably after paradise.

"It's no matter, Miss French," he said, stiffly. He looked down and braced his hands on his cane, forming a physical barrier between them. He couldn't bear to hear her excuses, whatever she would say to brush off whatever had just occurred between them.

Her hands lowered from her mouth. He saw her swallow, hard, something dying in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said, again.

"I'm sure you are," he said, with a grim smile. She looked as if he'd slapped her. "Well, I'm sure that now your father and his companion are absent you have friends to mingle with. Good evening, Miss French."

He excused himself, leaving her standing alone in the corner, gathering her thoughts. He had already been present long enough to make his presence felt. He needed to be as far from the bright, jangly music, people, and Belle's eyes as he could get.

He had no idea how she was going to dig herself out of the hole she'd made with that ridiculous lie, but he wasn't inclined to keep helping her. He wondered what her plan was to extricate them from this. Lie for another month or so then fake a divorce? Better yet, why not claim they had annulled the marriage due to non-consummation - Moe would almost certainly believe that.

Gold was wise enough to know that his anger had nothing really to do with the stupidity of the lie, but with his own frustrated desires. It was one thing for a lonely old man to daydream about his beautiful young assistant. He had never acted on it, and never intended to, and it had suited him just fine to let his feelings run their course until Belle moved on with her life, and left him in the dark where he belonged. 

But then she had gone and kissed him, and any hope he'd had of ignoring the issue had been dashed. He would spend the next eternity remembering the beautiful moment when her lips had parted beneath his, and her taste had burst over his tongue. The soft little moan she had made - surely surprise rather than genuine pleasure, in retrospect - would haunt his dreams.

He drove himself home grateful he had only had one drink, and that while confusion, frustration, and bitterness may have caused him to drive somewhat aggressively, he was no more a threat to fellow motorists than usual. He arrived home in a foul mood, and resolved to drink his sins away. Belle had booked the following week off anyway to be with her father. They could go the next week without seeing one another, and begin anew in the New Year.

He resolved then and there, a little early, perhaps, but necessary, to create some necessary distance between them come January. He would sell off the gift he’d set aside for her, a book he’d seen her lusting over in an antiques order that she’d never be able to afford as a customer, and rearrange his own hours so that Dove could supervise her, and he could work in peace from his home.

She would only be his employee for a few more months, anyhow. Once the library opened in the Spring, Belle was set to become the head librarian. It was only Regina’s stinginess and Belle’s visa necessities that had kept her in Storybrooke for nine months without salary, necessitating her begging him for a job.

He settled himself down in his favourite chair, and poured himself two fingers from the decanter on the table. She had panicked when faced with a father who clearly thought he knew better. Gold could forgive that - he had once gotten himself arrested in order to avoid going home to his own father. There was clearly a story behind the appearance of the glowering Gary, besides. 

What he could not forgive was how he had allowed himself to become swept up in the whole enterprise. He could have ended the kiss when she began it without ending the charade. He could have kept his hands to himself. Instead, he had allowed a moment’s hope to bloom in his hollow, creaking chest, and thus left himself vulnerable to the inevitable pain of rejection a moment later.

Of course she wasn’t interested in him. He was a friend, a mentor. Perhaps, he thought grimly, she even saw him as a father figure. Now he had met her actual father, the thought was infinitely possible.

A knock on the door roused him from his thoughts. 

No one came to Gold’s door. His hard-heartedness was legend in Storybrooke, and no fool had tried begging at his door for an extension or a loan in years. The ‘no soliciting’ sign was unnecessary when his reputation kept people away just fine on its own.

The dark thought occurred to him that perhaps he had been followed. Given how angry and afraid Belle had seemed of her father and his friend, Gold could hardly discount the idea that they had stalked him back to his home after he had left early. 

They were large men, and aggressive. Gold was slight, and with his cane he could hardly move at any speed.

Pausing in the hallway, he opened the draw beneath the telephone and pulled out the revolver he kept hidden there. Now armed, he approached the front door.

There were no hulking shadows behind the stained glass, but in the dark of the night one could never be sure. Cautiously, gun brandished, Gold opened the door.

Belle cried out and jumped back, eyes fixed on the barrel of the revolver.

“Now, just what d’you think- Belle!” Gold lowered the gun immediately, horrified.

Belle held up her hands. “Bad neighbourhood?”

She was still in her party dress, although she had taken her hair down from its up-do and pulled her coat over her bare arms. She was so beautiful in his porchlight that for a moment Gold forgot everything he had told himself mere hours before about safe distance.

“Not at all Miss French,” he corrected himself, stiffly, finally remembering himself. Belle deflated.

“Can I come in?” she asked, her voice small and timid. He was upsetting her with his coldness, but it was only for her own good. He would rather be cold than come off a lecherous old man, and for all she had been quick to feign a relationship when the need had arisen, he doubted any overtures in earnest would be met with her approval.

“Of course,” he said, standing aside, common sense apparently fled. Perhaps she could offer an explanation that would ease some of the wounds she had unknowingly inflicted. Perhaps he was simply an idiot, unable to resist the allure of having her in his home. 

She stepped inside. her high heels clacking on his hardwood floor. He closed the door behind her, and she relaxed when they were alone. She was certainly the only person in town who felt safe alone with him. He wasn’t sure what that said about her.

He lead her through to the living room, and gestured for her to sit on the sofa. Gold took his usual seat, beside his drink, a good safe distance between them.

“I just needed to apologise again,” she began, slender hands knotted in front of her, anxiety pouring from every tight muscle. “I had no right to drag you into this, my father just… he caught me by surprise, and I had to say something.”

Gold frowned, thinking back over the conversation prior to Belle’s shocking announcement, and her sudden shift from perfectly pleasant to terrified and stumbling.

“It was the young man he brought with him, wasn’t it?” Gold asked. Belle nodded, miserably. “I remember he mentioned something about the pair of you, and before he could finish-”

“I lied and claimed we had gotten married suddenly and without telling anyone?” Belle supplied, her face turning bright red, as if she wanted the floor to swallow her whole. “Yeah I was there. I am so, so sorry Mr Gold. I didn’t know I was going to say it until it was out of my mouth, and then there it was, and you were so good to go along with it.”

“Good,” he muttered, wondering if she would still use that adjective if she knew how much he had enjoyed the charade, their kiss in particular. “Indeed.”

Belle nodded. “I- especially when I kissed you,” she stumbled over her words, her eloquence submerged by awkwardness. “You were so good to go along with that.”

Gold hummed under his breath, hoping she would take the soft noise as assent to whatever spin she was trying to put on it, without his having to lie to her or to admit the truth. Gold always found life easier in a nebulous in-between space, where the recipient could place whatever meaning they wished upon his ambiguity. It served him well here: it allowed her to contextualise as she wished, and him to go along with whatever she felt best.

The silence stretched between them. For just a second, Gold was certain he saw Belle’s bright blue eyes flick to his mouth.

She had always been sweet with him, flirtatious even. His hopes and dreams had not been built on empty air. But she was a sweet girl, and he knew better than to place any stock in her friendliness. She was remembering a kiss: it was natural to look at his lips. Gold felt himself grow tense with each passing second, until his muscles felt fit to snap. He needed her gone. He needed his equilibrium back. He needed her mouth against his again, and more, and forever… and he needed to forget that altogether.

“Why are you here, Belle?” he asked, and if his voice rasped a little then she didn’t comment.

“My father caught me outside the party,” she said. “I was just going to call to apologise, but he caught me and-”

“Did he touch you?” Gold demanded, concern for her safety overwhelming everything else. If the bastard had hurt Belle in any way, then they’d be shipping him home to Melbourne in a body bag. Belle snorted, and shook her head.

“Papa wouldn’t do that,” she said, softly. “No he just… he thinks I’ll come home, because I’m not instantly Harvard’s head librarian. The fact that I like it here, that I have a job lined up and a job I like until then and friends and…” she trailed off, looking him in the eye, and Gold felt an implication he couldn’t quite grasp. The silence lingered, and she sighed, shaking her head. He felt he had missed something vital, but he didn’t for the life of him know what. “Anyway, I have my green card and I’m happy here. If I leave God knows if they’ll even let me come back, and I don’t want to leave.”

“Then don’t,” Gold said, with a fervour he wished he’d kept to himself. “Stay.”

“I want to,” she said. “And if it had just been him coming to plead with me over the holidays, that’d be one thing. But he brought Gary.”

“And Gary is the young man who accompanied him tonight?” Gold checked. Belle nodded. She looked miserable, and he wanted to comfort her, but he couldn’t think of how without crossing lines that needed to remain firmly in place. 

“My ex,” she said. “We were together through high school, and long-distance for some of college, although I know for a fact he wasn’t exactly faithful. I don’t know how papa got it into his head that somehow the promise of picking up where we left off would tempt me but… God, if he knew half of what Gary’s done…”

“Belle?” Gold frowned, leaning forward. Gary wouldn’t see daybreak if Belle so much as hinted that he’d raised a hand to her - Gold would see to that. “What happened?”

Belle shook her head, her dark curls swaying. “He didn’t like me living abroad,” she said. “He didn’t like me going to grad school or wanting to travel. He set it all out for me once, his grand dream for the pair of us: a big house in the suburbs, five kids, and several dogs. He would work in his father’s insurance company, and I would spend my days looking after the children. He would provide for us and I’d never have to read another book in all my life.”

Gold tried to picture it: Belle abandoning her books and her adventures to support her husband’s insurance career and raise his brood. The idea of her bright mind and fierce spirit trammelled like that was unthinkable. Belle would be an extraordinary mother and a wonderful partner to anyone lucky enough to win her heart, but she could never fade into the wallpaper like that.

“I can’t say the image suits,” he said. She snorted through her nose.

“Neither did I,” she said. “Gary proposed to me that night. The idea was we’d get married, I’d finish my degree back home, and then he’d get me pregnant. I told him no, he broke a window on the way out… and I expected never to see him again.”

“Until tonight,” Gold finished. Belle nodded.

“Yeah, until tonight. I was afraid of him that night, Mr Gold,” she admitted, softly. “He was so angry that I’d rejected him. I can’t imagine what papa was thinking bringing him here.”

Thinking about it now, Belle’s snap decision made perfect sense. If she was already married, she was of no use to Gary, and she had an excuse to defy her father. Gold was also clearly wealthy and powerful - a perfect deterrent should they attempt to force her.

“How long will they be in town?” Gold asked, softly. Belle looked up.

“Papa was due to stay a week,” she said. “Flights were cheap Christmas Day, so he was supposed to fly home then. Right now, I’m mostly hoping he’ll leave earlier than that, since he arrived unannounced.”

“So we only have to maintain the charade until Christmas Eve at the latest,” Gold said. Belle’s eyes widened.

“You… you’d be willing to continue?” she asked, clearly astonished. “You’d do that for me?”

“I hardly want my best employee dragged home in shackles,” he said, trying to cover the warm glow in his chest that came from having made her smile. He was a fool, yes, but a fool for her? That wasn’t quite so unbearable. 

“I’ll work extra shifts,” she promised, eagerly, “Weekends, evenings, whatever you want!”

“I’m sure that will be fine,” he said, as if he cared at all for payment. He wondered if she would be so eager if she understood that simply the pleasure of feigning a relationship with her, of being physically close to her, was incentive enough. “What will we do once your father leaves?”

“Tell everyone we’ve separated but remain good friends?” Belle suggested. Gold swallowed hard: even the idea of an imaginary break-up with Belle was unthinkable. He couldn’t imagine a situation in which he would willingly part from her, if he were fortunate enough to have her. But he nodded, all the same. It was inevitable. It was ridiculous to imagine she would maintain the lie indefinitely.

“Did your father follow you here?” he asked, instead of trying to reply directly.

Belle’s eyes widened. She scrambled to her feet, and practically ran to the window, twitching the curtains so she could see outside.

“I don’t see him,” she said. “But I don’t know what kind of car he hired. He’s sure to keep an eye on me, and… well, Gary’s followed me before. I’ll have to walk home down the back streets,” she mused, “Try and make sure they don’t see me leave. Married people live together after all.”

Gold thought for a moment. The solution was obvious, and risky. It was also too tantalising to resist. “You can stay here for the duration, if you wish,” he said.

Belle gaped at him. “No,” she said, “No I couldn’t impose. You’re already doing so much for me, I couldn’t possibly-”

“It’s really no issue,” he said, as if it didn’t matter at all, as if the idea of sharing dinners and breakfasts with her, her bright smile and chatter lighting the dark corners of his cavernous home, didn’t appeal in the slightest. “I’ve plenty of guest rooms upstairs.”

“Mr Gold, you’re already doing me a huge favour not firing me for the way I’ve acted tonight. I can’t also take your guest room.”

“I have four,” he said, with a shrug. “You’re welcome to take your pick.”

She was tempted: he could see that. Her tiny flat over the library was drafty and barely serviceable: he knew because he’d tried to buy the place from the City several times. Regina kept it in just good enough condition that a human being could live there, but without some serious renovation it was only just liveable. With the cold coming in, it was remarkable Belle hadn’t already caught hypothermia in that bell tower of hers.

“I’ll cook,” she said at last. He scoffed.

“You will not,” he replied. “I recall your leftovers the last time you attempted cookery. Under no circumstances are you to come near my kitchen.”

Belle laughed at that. She had tried to make lasagne a few weeks ago to Granny’s recipe, and somehow it had come out both undercooked and burnt. “Fine, I’ll clean then.”

He eyed her. This was such a terrible mistake, and yet the risk to her safety - emotional and potentially physical - was clearly very real. He cared for so little in this world, and yet he cared for her. The idea of having the holidays filled with Belle in his home, even in such a capacity, filled a lonely hole in his soul that he’d barely remembered was there.

“Do we have a deal?” he asked, holding out his hand. Belle grinned, and took it with a firm handshake. His palm tingled where she’d touched it as he pulled away.

“Deal.”

\---

Gold was unaccustomed to having someone else in his home in the morning.

The evening before had been a little tense, but to her credit Belle had done her best to muddle through with the minimum of awkwardness. She had gone to her flat via the back streets as promised to collect a bag of her things, and to her knowledge she hadn’t been seen. He had bid her goodnight on the landing, and safely closed his bedroom door behind him.

He had expected to not see Belle. Given she had booked the day off, he had thought she would take advantage of the safety and comfort of his home and sleep in. In fact, he was in the beginning stages of drafting a note to her explaining the specifics of his kitchen and that she should feel free to help herself to whatever food and drink she required, when he heard footsteps on the stairs.

Belle's dark head appeared around the doorway. She was still rumpled from sleep, soft and warm in her pyjamas. They were hardly the most alluring sleepwear Gold had ever seen, a t-shirt and flannel pants with a pattern of teacups, but he still caught himself staring. There was something so perfect, so domestic and intimate, about her stumbling into his kitchen in the early morning sunlight in her flannel pyjamas, sleep still lingering in the corners of her eyes.

"Morning," Belle mumbled, rubbing her eyes with her hand. She didn't seem to have noticed his preoccupation, and he snapped out of it at the sound of her voice.

"How did you sleep?" he asked, courteously. He wasn't looking and therefore could not have possibly seen a sliver of her soft, pale stomach when she stretched luxuriantly.

"Wonderfully," she sighed. "That bed is so comfortable I never wanted to get up!"

"Only the best for my wife," Gold muttered, teasing. He froze when he realised what he'd said, hoping he hadn't pushed too far. He heard her chuckle.

"Lucky lady I'm sure," she said. He heard her approaching, soft footfalls on the parquet floor. "So, what're you writing?"

"It was for you, actually," he said. "I didn't know what time you would be up."

"Well, I assumed I'd be working in the shop today," she said. "Y'know, to make up for everything?"

Gold quirked an eyebrow, "You're entitled to your holiday, dearie," he said. Then he caught her meaning, her eyebrow quirking at him as if he were particularly dense. "And as your holiday entailed spending time with your father and his companion..."

"I would rather work a double shift for free at the cannery than spend an hour with the pair of them?" Belle finished. "Bingo.”

“That was damning with faint praise,” Gold muttered. Belle rolled her eyes.

“You know what I mean. The shop is… it’s safe. It’s like a home away from home now, you know? I’d much rather be there with you than anywhere with them.”

Gold considered it. He had hoped for respite from her, for a day in the peaceful gloom of his shop to recalibrate and find his equilibrium. Word was sure to have gotten around town by now about their apparent elopement, and he had hoped to fend off the worst of the enquiries with a particularly stormy glare.

Belle's presence - tactile, intelligent, and beautiful as she was - would ruin any chance he had of clearing his head. Just having her in his kitchen in the morning, watching as she filled a mug with coffee from the pot and popped two slices of bread into the toaster, was preventing him from thinking straight. He could get used to this, he thought, and therein lay the terrible problem.

"Unless you'd rather I took the time off?" she said, uncertainty creeping into her voice, turning back to face him. "What am I saying? Of course you'd prefer that. I'm taking up enough space already, I'm sorry, I-"

"I'm hardly about to turn down extra labour when it's offered," he said, cutting her off before she had time to babble her way into a crisis. "And we will be busier than usual, seeing as it is the holidays. I'm sure I can find something for a well-meaning employee to do." 

Belle smiled, sagging with relief. "Thank God," she muttered.

The toaster popped a moment later, and Gold was surprised to find a piece of toast with the perfect amount of marmalade placed before him. Apparently only one of the slices was intended for Belle. How she knew what he liked on his toast was a mystery to him, but he couldn’t deny it was perfect, and better than the black coffee and self-recrimination he’d planned for his breakfast.

"We should get our story straight," she said, as she took a seat opposite him at the breakfast bar. "You know, for when people ask. I did kind of yell this stupid lie at the top of my lungs at a public event."

"Yes, no doubt most of Storybrooke is planning a rescue mission as we speak."

Belle frowned, and swallowed a mouthful of coffee before asking, "What do you mean by that?"

Gold quirked an eyebrow. "It's a tale as old as time, dearie," he said, "Beautiful young woman trapped with a terrible old monster, hero comes to the rescue, etcetera etcetera."

Belle cocked her head to one side, an odd smile playing about her lips. "Mr Gold, did you just call me beautiful?"

Gold's brain slammed to a halt, panic screaming through every nerve ending. "I…”

Realisation dawned a moment later: he hadn’t been caught out, she was laughing at him. He scowled. And as well she might, he supposed, an old fool like him complimenting an angel like her.

"You know very well how lovely you are," he grumbled. "No need to fish."

She was still watching him with that enchanting smile, as if she were swallowing a grin. If he were the optimistic kind, he would have sworn there was the hint of a blush in her cheeks.

"Regardless, you're not the monster in this story, Mr Gold," she said. "Hardly old or terrible. You're my handsome hero, rescuing me from those who would drag me away."

He didn't know what to say to that. He refused to blush like a schoolboy, and instead covered with a cough and a long sip of his coffee.

"Most of Storybrooke would disagree with you, dear," he said. She laughed.

"Most of Storybrooke would be wrong, then."

"In any case, no doubt discussions about our apparent elopement have already begun. You're correct that we need to align our stories. How we met, the wedding, the essentials."

Belle nodded. "I figure... I don't know, one night I was working late, we got talking, one thing lead to another..."

Gold's whole body went still. Belle trailed off, apparently caught herself by the memory of how often exactly that had happened, albeit with a less exciting ending. She often worked late, and he loved talking with her. They would often sit for and hour or more after her shift had officially ending discussing books, history, her travel plans, whatever took their fancy. How often during those conversations had he imagined doing just as she described, crossing the three feet of air between them and capturing her mouth with a kiss? 

Now he knew how that would have felt, the fantasy was all the more torturous. 

He cleared his throat; Belle did the same. The tension between them was suffocating.

"That sounds plausible enough," he agreed, his voice hoarser than he had intended. This was such a terrible idea. He needed the charade over as quickly as possible, and Belle back at a safe distance, before he did something they would both regret.

"Yeah," Belle agreed. Again, those bright blue eyes flicked down to his mouth to avoid meeting his gaze. "How did you propose?"

Gold thought about it. How would he propose to Belle? The answer came a moment later, obvious and foolish: he would tell her a story, their story, however it had happened. The story of a beautiful girl who found herself alone with a monster, and somehow learned to love him. A fiction, of course, but a truth in this hypothetical world. He would end the story with their marriage and happily ever after. Then he would ask her to make it all come true, and produce a ring made perfectly for her finger.

The answer came so readily, and fit so perfectly, that he couldn't bring himself to say it aloud. It felt like an exposure, like an admission of guilt. He shook his head, and feigned nonchalance.

"I've no idea, dearie," he lied. "When I proposed to my ex-wife she had choreographed the experience in advance. All I had to do was buy the ring and ask the question, she took care of the rest."

"Oh," Belle frowned. "That doesn't sound very romantic."

"It was what it was," he shrugged.

Belle’s eyes narrowed, and he realised only then the secret he had exposed. “I didn’t know you had been married before,” she said. He swallowed, hard. He had no desire to bring the ghost of Mila Gold into this sunlit kitchen, and yet he had brought her up.

“It was a long time ago,” he said. “Ancient history now.”

“What happened?” she asked. Gold shrugged.

“She met someone else.” 

He didn’t mention that she had abandoned their son, too, or the terrible affect their subsequent emigration to the States had had on Neal’s wellbeing. It was too painful, especially around the holidays, to remember that he was unwelcome at Neal’s family’s table. The boy had blamed him for his mother’s leaving, and that had been the end of the conversation.

“Mr Gold?” Belle prompted, a moment later. Gold returned to the present. Belle was watching him closely. When their eyes met, she smiled, and a crack of light appeared through the dark. “You know, that’s another problem,” she said, softly.

“What is, dear?” he asked.

“Your name,” she explained. “I don’t know your first name. I’m not in a Jane Austen novel, I can’t refer to my husband as ‘Mister’.”

“Ah,” Gold pursed his lips. No one used his forename. Everyone referred to him as Gold. It would feel odd to have someone say it now. Especially strange to have Belle say it, and to know she only did so because of a lie. “I’m sure you can be creative with pet names, dearie. If it comes to it, I’ll answer to ‘hey you’.”

Belle rolled her eyes. “Is it really that awful?”

Gold grimaced. “Yes.”

“If I guess it, will you tell me?”

She was teasing, that swallowed grin returned to her face. She was enchanting, impossible, and he couldn’t help himself. If she was to be the death of him, it was a good way to go.

“I’m not Rumpelstiltskin,” he said. She laughed.

“Well there goes my first guess!” She thought about it, examining him. “How about… Timothy?”

“Do I look like a Timmy to you?” Gold demanded, slightly offended. Belle shook her head.

“Not when you put it like that. Okay, something embarrassing, something you won’t tell me… ah ha!” she cried, “How about Barbara?”

The look on her face startled a laugh from Gold, who had chosen that exact moment to take a long sip of his coffee. He sputtered, coffee spurting from his nose in possibly the least attractive manner possible, and Belle laughed helplessly as she handed him a wad of tissues. She was hitting his back, trying to keep him from choking. 

Then she was stroking it, as his breathing returned to normal. She was suddenly so close he could count her eyelashes, the warmth of her body and the soft scent of her suffusing him. “Better?” she asked, softly.

He swallowed hard, finally able to draw a proper breath. He answered honestly, “Yes.” Of course it was better. Everything was better the closer he was to her.

“Good,” she said. She was still stroking his upper back in slow circles. He hoped she would never stop, the warmth of her hand heavy and pleasant through his three piece suit. “If you won’t tell me, I’ll just have to go around calling you Rumpelstiltskin,” she warned. He considered it.

“Better that than my real name,” he said. She gaped at him, clearly desperately curious, but the look in his eyes - the genuine misery, remembering the awful forename his father had saddled him with - stayed her tongue.

“How about Rum, then?” she suggested. “Even if someone does know the truth, it’ll sound like a cute nickname.”

“I’ll answer to most things,” he said. She smiled.

“Good, then.”

Her hand slid along his back and away, her warmth leaving him and the chill returning. She returned to her breakfast; he did the same.

Over the course of the following half hour, they hashed out the details of their wedding - a simple ceremony at Portland City Hall, the witnesses two strangers they’d met in the hallway whose names they couldn’t recall now - and their honeymoon - three nights in a bed and breakfast up the coast that Gold worked hard not to imagine too closely. By the time they’d reached the shop, the details were so clear in Gold’s mind it felt as if he’d lived it.

Once they were inside the shop, things got easier. Belle got on with her usual duties, cleaning and stock-taking, and manning the till while Gold worked on restorations in the back. The distance gave him time to clear his head, and he heard Belle repeating their rehearsed story to a handful of Storybrooke regulars through the course of the morning.

It was lunchtime before nemesis reared its ugly head. The bell over the door jangled, and Gold almost felt the temperature drop.

“Oh. Hi, papa,” he heard Belle say. He was on his feet and stepping slowly toward the curtain before he knew what he was doing.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Moe’s broad Australian accent was quiet, even contrite. Perhaps he had come to apologise, Gold thought. Despite his misgivings about the man, and his desperate hope that Belle would remain in Storybrooke, he hoped Moe was a better father than he appeared, for Belle’s sake.

“What’re you doing here?” she asked.

“I, ah, saw the sign over the door,” Moe replied. “Figured this was your fella’s place.”

“Our place,” Belle said. Gold swallowed around a lump in his throat. Were she to say the word, it would be true.

“So you’re, ah, Mrs Gold now?” Moe asked. 

Gold held his breath.

“Yes,” Belle said. “Did you just come to ask me that?”

“No I…” Gold heard Moe sigh, frustration clear in his tone. “I came to see you, darling. I’ve missed you, and we left things so badly last night.”

“I know, papa,” Belle said, her voice softening. “I’ve missed you too. You just really hurt me last night.”

“I’m sorry for that, sweetheart,” Moe said. “I just worry about you, that’s all. I mean, what could be so awful that you couldn’t tell me, sweetheart? If you needed money you could’ve called me. If it’s for immigration then maybe it’s best you do move home-”

“Papa!” Belle cried. Gold started: he’d never heard her sound so angry in all the time he’d known her. “I didn’t marry Mr Gold for his money or for a green card!”

“Then why?” Moe begged. “C’mon, Belles, you’ve seen him. You can do better, sweetheart.”

“There is no one better for me,” Belle lied. Gold swallowed hard. He couldn’t listen to another word. He couldn’t bear to hear her defend him or profess some kind of love he knew she didn’t feel. 

“Belle, is something the matter?” he said, loudly announcing himself as he strode out into the shop. “Ah, Mr French. So nice of you to stop by.”

Moe’s piggish eyes narrowed, glancing between the two of them. “I know there’s something darker going on here. You mark my words, I won’t let you hurt my little girl,” Moe swore, glaring at Gold right in the eye. 

Gold shrugged. “I won’t let you hurt my wife,” he said, and placed his hand on the small of Belle’s back once more. Remarkably, he felt her lean back into it, as if she were comforted by the contact. “But I do hope it won’t come to that.”

“Please, papa,” Belle begged, “Please try to understand.”

“I don’t understand why you wouldn’t tell your own father you were getting married,” Moe replied. Belle threw up her hands.

“Because you flew out here to spend the holidays with me, and you brought my ex-boyfriend with you!”

“Gary loves you, darling,” Moe said. “He just wants a chance to show you how much.”

“And then what?” Belle demanded, hotly. “I get a divorce, marry Gary, and have ten children?”

“No, you come back where you’re safe!” Moe shouted. “Where you’re not a twelve hour flight from your own father!”

“We can call more or… or I can come visit,” Belle said. “I miss you too I just… I have to have my own life, too. I can’t have that at home. I can’t have that with Gary around.”

“But you can with him?” Moe sneered. He gestured to Gold. Gold gripped his cane, hard, and imagined driving it deep into the other man’s skull.

“You don’t even know him!” Belle cried. 

“I know enough,” Moe said, darkly. “People talk in this town, sweetheart, I’ve made some enquiries. I know you didn’t tell anyone about your wedding until just now, and I know it’s because you’re ashamed of the criminal loan shark who forced you to marry him.”

“That’s enough of that, Mr French,” Gold said, smoothly. “Believe what you wish about me, but your daughter is free to make her own choices.”

“That’s right,” Belle said. “You don’t get to decide where I go or how I feel, I do. And I choose to stay here, in Storybrooke.”

Moe looked between them, and Gold felt a stab of unwanted empathy at the pain in his eyes. Losing one’s child was a terrible feeling, even when one thoroughly deserved to be cut out. 

“D’you really want me to leave?” Moe asked, eyes fixed squarely on Belle. “You’d cast out your own father?”

Belle sighed. Gold saw the moment her soft, sweet, loving heart broke. “If you hadn’t brought Gary, maybe it might have been different,” she said. “I love you, papa, but you can’t even respect me enough to recognise when I’ve made my own choice.”

“I love you too,” Moe said, gently. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to fight. Please just… just have dinner with us, sweetheart. Just the three of us, before we leave town.”

Belle was wavering, Gold could see that. “You won’t try and make me come home with you?” Belle checked. Moe shook his head.

“I just want to be sure that you’re happy, Belles,” he said. “And safe.”

“I am,” Belle said. She wrapped an arm around Gold’s waist, pointedly. “Very happy.” She looked up at Gold, and he knew what she planned to do. He nodded, the slightest gesture he could manage. He couldn’t abide the thought of leaving her to have dinner alone with her father and the notorious Gary. He wouldn’t put it past Moe to bind his daughter with rope and duct tape and abduct her home to Australia in the back of a van.

“Dinner would be great,” Belle said, at last. “You, me, Gary... and Rum.”

“Who’s Rum?” Moe demanded. Belle smiled up at Gold.

“My husband, papa,” Belle faked a laugh, and Gold wondered if Moe knew his daughter well enough to spot the lie. “You didn’t think I called my own husband Mister, did you?”

Moe looked between them, clearly weighing the odds of getting to be truly alone with his daughter without Gold hovering over her. The moment Belle asked, Gold would leave. He doubted she would ask, though. Apparently, she and she alone of everyone who knew him felt safer with Gold at her side. He wouldn’t leave until she asked him to, and he hoped to all the Gods she never would.

"I'd rather it just be the three of us," Moe said. Belle's eyes turned hard.

"I would rather you hadn't brought my ex-boyfriend with you," Belle replied, coldly. "We all have our crosses to bear."

Moe deliberated only a moment longer. Gold wondered if Belle's resolve against her father was truly as hard as it appeared. He was a hard, cold, unforgiving bastard, but Belle was sweetness and warmth itself. It was pure ice and steel in her gaze, however. If warmth remained, she did not let it show.

"Fine," he said.

"Perfect!" Belle clapped her hands and smiled, as if the tundra of a moment ago had never been. "The four of us at Granny's at eight?"

"Sounds perfect to me, love," Gold said, enjoying far too much his freedom to call her that, even just for now, even just pretend.

Moe glared daggers at him. Gold's responding smile was cool and placid.

"See you tonight, papa," Belle chirped. Moe nodded.

"Tonight," he said, grimly, as if preparing for battle. The atmosphere lifted the moment the door closed behind him.

Belle sagged against the countertop. Gold remembered only a moment too late to remove his hand from her back, although if she had noticed she didn't comment on it.

"Are you alright?" Gold asked. Belle swallowed hard, and her smile was a transparent lie.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Her voice was thick, like she was trying not to cry, but Gold knew her too well, and knew she wouldn't appreciate having it pointed out. That was an unfortunate trait they shared: an unwillingness to show weakness, even when it was needed. 

Were he truly her husband, he would push her a little to tell him what was wrong. He would ask what Moe had done to inspire such anger, and hold her if she needed to cry. 

But he wasn't her husband. He was her employer, temporary roommate, and hopefully almost her friend. None of those titles entitled him to push, and so he took a different, safer tack instead.

"I'll get you some tea," Gold said. He returned to the safety of the back room, and when he came back with two mugs of tea in his hands, Belle had her head in the inventory ledger. He didn't comment on the telltale blotches in her cheeks; she accepted the tea with a smile that reached her eyes.

\---

"I'm really sorry you're having to do this," Belle said, for the fiftieth time. "I can't possibly repay you."

Gold brushed off her concerns with a wave of his hand. He had charged far more for far lesser services in the past, but if she thought he'd be calling in her marker anytime soon then she would be waiting a long time. He could hardly tell her that her continued presence in his life, even only as an employee and sometime-friend, was payment enough for a lie or two.

He certainly couldn't tell her that the sight of her in her turquoise dress, hair tumbling down her back and a flush from the cold in her cheeks, could have bought a kingdom.

"No matter what awaits us behind this door," he said, his hand on the handle to enter Granny's diner, "I guarantee I will be the scariest thing in that room."

Belle laughed at that, actually laughed! "Yes, so big and frightening, the man who irons his socks."

Gold stared at her, caught between feeling exposed and remarkably close to her. She was teasing him, with details of his life gleaned only by staying in his home. That false and inescapable sense of intimacy reared its head once more. Gold ruthlessly forced it back down.

Belle laughed at his expression. "Don't worry," she said, confidentially. "I won't tell anyone."

“Not if you know what’s good for you,” he muttered. She grinned at him, completely unafraid.

He pushed the door open, and guided her in, his hand back in that safe space on the small of her back. Perhaps it appeared a little possessive, but that was rather the point, and Belle hadn’t minded before.

Moe and Gary were, unfortunately, early. Belle caught her father’s eye from the booth in the corner, and Gold saw her swallow hard, a look of intense anxiety crossing her face for just a moment. An incoherent but forceful anger clenched at his stomach. Belle was the bravest person he knew, and anyone who frightened her was an enemy of his.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when Belle’s small, soft hand found its way into his. She clenched her fingers hard about his, and instinctively he squeezed back.

Moe couldn’t possibly see it, not with half of Storybrooke between them and him. It was possible the show was for the townsfolk, but their curiosity was tempered by their fear of him, and they were mostly averting their eyes and going about their business.

The thought struck him that perhaps Belle held on for her own comfort. He hoped she would never let go.

She lead him across the diner toward the table. Moe and Gary were seated opposite one another, naturally, forcing Belle and Gold apart. 

“Good evening Papa,” Belle greeted her father with a smile, although Gold saw the effort it took her. She forced her eyes to Gary, who sat sprawled in his corner, legs and arms taking up an extra person’s space at least. His eyes were glassy and his face flushed, as if he were already well into his cups. If possible, Gold’s opinion of the man fell even lower. “Gary.”

“Glad you could make it, sweetheart,” Moe said, that odd contrition returned to his face. Gold had the distinct impression of a man at war with himself: half selfish anger, half desperate desire not to lose his child. Had he a kinder soul, Gold would pity him, perhaps even empathise with his plight. As it was, he wished he were dining with Belle alone this evening.

If Moe weren’t here, though, then neither would he be. Belle would be with her friends or back safe in her apartment, wherever it was she went in the hours she didn’t work at the shop, and re would be alone in his house with the cobwebs for company.

Perhaps Gold owed Moe a debt after all.

Belle leaned down and kissed her father’s cheek, although Gold noticed her grip on his hand did not slacken. “It’s really good to see you, papa,” she said, softly enough that Gold could only just hear it. 

Belle straightened, and considered the situation. Gold forced himself to remain silent, and resisted the urge to say or do something solely to discomfit the pair before them.

“Belles, why don’t you come sit by me?” Gary grinned, and beckoned Belle over. Gold could see it now: the taller man’s brawny limbs wrapped around Belle like a vice, the implicit threat of violence or capture inherent in every moment. Belle had told him relatively little of their relationship, but that anger reared its ugly head once more. This brute had had Belle, and he had treated her like filth. He deserved worse than anything Gold could visit on him, at least, within the confines of the law. Gold longed to drive the heavy brass handle of his cane into Gary’s throat and silence him.

His secondary instinct after raw aggression was one of defence. Before he even knew what he was doing, Gold had planted himself on the booth next to Gary, in the spot intended for Belle.

“I think Belle ought to sit beside her father, don’t you?” he said, allowing that aggressive instinct to slip into his tone. Gold was pleased to see the younger man wither just a little, his animal brain understanding the threat even as his bravado refused to acknowledge it.

Belle was beaming at him, relief rolling off her as she slipped into the booth beside her father. Her hand found his again, unerringly. They held hands across the table, and while the effect on Moe and Gary was clear in their matching scowls, Gold could only see Belle gazing back at him.

She was a remarkable actress, he thought, despite being a terrible liar. From the look on her face, he could almost believe she was in love.

His throat went dry, his heart pounding, reacting to the emotion he saw even if it wasn’t real. She squeezed his hand again, and he thought he might fly.

“So, Belles,” Gary leaned forward, insinuating himself into space that felt deeply intimate and personal, all of a sudden. “How’d you two meet?”

“We work together,” Belle said, immediately, her eyes not leaving Gold’s face. Of course she preferred to look at him than at Gary: Gold had never threatened her physical safety, at the very least. 

Gold winced as he felt Gary’s meaty hand slap his shoulder. “Dipping your pen in the company ink, huh?” Gary winked, and Gold wondered how many bones he could break in the other man’s foot if he positioned his cane correctly and pushed down. “Classy, Belles.”

“Remove your hand or have it removed for you,” Gold muttered. Gary held up his hands as if surrendering, but his face held no hint of remorse.

“Woah, sorry grandpa,” he said, reeling back. “Didn’t realise you were so sensitive.” He looked between them, grinning, “So lemme guess, he was your boss, you were his secretary, he’s loaded…”

Belle made a face, “Gary, you’re drunk. Stop talking.” She turned to Moe pointedly. Gold shifted his cane just enough that the pressure against Gary’s foot was obvious. “So, papa, have you done anything fun today? I’m sorry I had to work, but you know how it is running a small business.”

“I understand perfectly, sweetheart,” Moe said. “It’s good the pair of you are so dedicated to that little shop. What is it you sell there, exactly? I didn’t get a chance to look.”

“Antiques mostly,” Belle replied, “Some books. Rum does restorations of jewellery and old furniture, and with a proper website and some word-of-mouth it could become a destination soon!” 

Gold listened to her voice come alive as she discussed their work. She had made a home of the shop, in the past few months: she knew every nook and cranny, every item for sale and every box in storage. She knew it by heart. It was a minor venture for Gold, a shop front to lend legitimacy to his real estate and financial business. A pawn shop was subject to less regulatory control than a payday lender, after all. But Belle loved the shop for what it was: for its dust and its gloom, for the old mismatched furniture and ancient, musty tomes. She loved the mystery of family heirlooms and the thrill of uncovering an inscription or engraving hidden somewhere on a new item.

Gold could listen to her talk about it all day, but then Gold would have happily listened to her soft alto voice read the phone book if she was holding his hand while she did.

She was telling her father about a collection of Conrad first editions Gold was helping to restore, when Ruby Lucas came to take their order. Gold saw her take in their clasped hands, and watched as her eyes met Belles, one perfectly sculpted eyebrow arching. Gold recalled only then that the two women were friends. 

Whatever she was thinking, she didn’t pass comment, for which Gold was grateful. Gold couldn’t fathom what Ruby must think of her friend apparently deciding out of nowhere to run off and elope with her boss, a man twice her age and hated by their town. Ruby’s grandmother, the eponymous Granny, had threatened on more than one occasion to shoot him where he stood on rent day. She was all talk, but the vehemence was real, and probably well deserved.

Gold ordered his usual - Granny was a nightmare, but she made a decent cheeseburger - and he didn’t like the smirk on Ruby’s face when she nodded and wrote it down. She looked altogether too knowing, not worried for her friend but as if she were in on a private joke. Had Belle told her the truth? Was the thought of the two of them together, even only as a pretense, really so hilarious?

Ruby turned to Gary. “And for you, sir?” she asked. Gary grinned, lazily.

“What do you recommend, sweetheart?” he asked, his eyes roaming lasciviously over her body, taking his sweet time returning to her eyes where his gaze belonged. Ruby folded her arms and pursed her lips.

“Avocado burger,” she said, without blinking. “Special of the house.”

Gold fought down a small chuckle. He knew well of Granny’s avocado burgers: few ever ordered them, and no one ever ate one. It remained on the menu as a town-wide joke, but Gary was nodding.

“Sure thing, babe,” he said. “I’d love the house special.”

Gold’s resolve broke. Ruby Lucas could take care of herself, and he held no special fondness for the girl, but the man beside him was too odorous to withstand any longer. He shifted his cane beneath the table, lifted it to position it over Gary’s foot, and leaned forward, hard.

Gary yelped, and then groaned with pain. Ruby continued chatting to Belle as if nothing had happened, and if Belle or Moe noticed they didn’t comment. Gary’s wide, pained eyes flicked to Gold. Gold wondered if he’d feel it if a small bone broke.

Ruby bustled away, and Belle returned her attention to Moe, continuing her story about an antique brooch that had turned out to date from the Civil War. Gold was annoyed that he had to maintain attention on the oaf beside him, rather than losing himself in Belle’s soft, sweet voice. He couldn’t help but be touched by how much attention she clearly paid to their work. There was genuine passion in her voice, enjoyment for what was otherwise a menial retail job, that eased a little of his worry that he’d squandered her talents shutting her away in the shop. 

“What’s your fucking - ah - problem?” Gary panted. Gold twisted the cane, and heard something pop in Gary’s foot. 

“I’d keep my comments to myself, if I were you,” he replied, softly. “You’re making Belle uncomfortable.”

“Move your cane, man,” Gary retorted, his voice a pained gasp. Gold relented, only because he didn’t wish to cause a scene in front of Belle’s father. Gary winced when the cane retreated, returning to its place between Gold’s knees. 

“Next time I’ll put more than a fraction of my weight on it,” Gold promised. “And it might not be your foot that takes the hit.”

“You’re crazy, man!” Gary said, but he kept his voice low. “Does Belle know you’re a psycho?”

Gold shook his head. “Perhaps. But unlike some, I keep my psychosis for those who deserve it.”

Gary was about to retort, when Gold shook his head. Genuine fear flashed in Gary’s eyes, and Gold felt a surge of triumph at the sight. “You’re making a scene, Gary,” he said. “Belle’s trying to have a nice evening.”

He pointedly returned his attention to Belle, who had finished her story.

“So it turns out the broach was actually a gift from a Confederate soldier to his Northern sweetheart,” Belle said, excitedly. “That’s why her family had hidden where it came from. Amazing, right?”

“Sounds like you’re getting a passion for the antiques business,” Moe said. Belle nodded. For a moment, they were smiling at one another, and Gold felt something tug in his heart. A parent and child reunited, despite the anger between them. He was glad someone could have that, at least. 

Then, Moe spoke again.

“Y’know, I hear that trade’s really booming in Melbourne these days,” he said. “They’re finding all sorts of settler stuff in old foundations now, and there’s a guy downtown who’s set up a gallery for Aboriginal stuff.”

“There’s no history in Australia, papa,” Belle said, as if gently explaining the obvious, but Gold saw the way her jaw tightened, and felt her squeeze his hand reflexively. He squeezed back. “Well, none I have any business profiting from, anyway. I heard about the Aboriginal gallery, though! Have you been yet?”

“No,” Moe shook his head. Gold was unsurprised. He didn’t seem the art gallery type. “But we could when you come home? Maybe they’re even hiring.”

“I don’t know when I can come for a visit, papa,” Belle said, and Gold realised then that he had been wrong before: her acting had not improved, and she was still a terrible liar. Only a fool would have believed that she didn’t know what her father was getting at. Only a total stranger could have missed the anger in her jawline and the tension in her shoulders, her hopes once again breaking apart. 

“Listen, sweetheart,” Moe took Belle’s free hand in both of his. Belle looked at him with a potent mix of hope and wariness: desperate for her father to not disappoint her, knowing full well that he would. “I know you loved studying in Boston-”

“Papa-”

“But I just can’t see why you’re staying here. This town is…”

“My home,” Belle finished, firmly. 

“Your home is where your family is,” Moe wheedled. “Where you have roots, history…”

“Love,” Gold murmured. The word was out of his mouth before he had time to take it back. Moe glared at him, and he felt Gary’s murderous stare burn into the side of his face. Belle was smiling, though, grateful for his intervention. “One should live with those one loves,” he said, softly. “Otherwise what’s the point?”

“Well said, grandpa,” Gary said. 

“Excuse me?” Gold turned to him. “Did you have something to contribute?”

Everyone was looking at Gary. He grinned, finally the centre of attention. “I’m just glad you agree with us,” Gary shrugged. “Living on another continent with a sugar daddy’s no place for Belle. She should be with the man who loves her.” He softened his expression, and grabbed Belle’s hand away from Gold, forcing them to break contact. Gold would have murdered him on the spot just for that. “Belles, I love you. I’ve always loved you-”

“Gary, let go of me!” Belle hauled her hand back, “What’s wrong with you? We’ve been broken up for three years! I’m a married woman!”

“And I’ve missed you every day since!” Gary slurred. “I’ve been trying to give you space-”

“By hijacking my father’s visit to see me halfway around the world?” Belle demanded. Her voice was rising, and people were starting to look. Gold saw Ruby look up from behind the counter, and for once he was grateful for her sharp hearing. 

“I had to see you,” he pleaded. “I thought it’d be romantic!”

“I’m married, Gary!” Belle cried. 

“No you’re not!” Gary snapped back. 

The room went silent. Gold’s gut clenched. There was no way Gary could know that, no way at all. He’d have had to access the State of Maine’s public records server, and he knew from experience that those requests took over a week to process even when it wasn’t the holidays. Gary had known of their apparent marriage for only twenty-four hours, and lacked the citizenship and the brains to prove the lie.

Gold ran through this in his mind as Belle gaped at him. Gary tried to look sympathetic, kind, but he just looked smug,

“Why would you say something like that?” Belle gasped, the same panic in her eyes that Gold felt in his chest.

Gary rolled his eyes. “C’mon, Belles, you don’t have to keep living a lie.”

“Rum and I were married in Portland in October and-”

“Green card marriage doesn’t count,” Gary said. “Look I get it, he’s rich and he has a US passport, but none of that’d matter if you just came home.”

“What’re you trying to say, Gary?” Belle demanded. Gary shrugged.

“You’re a passionate woman,” he said, in a tone that made Gold’s flesh crawl. “No one’s believing for a second you’d be satisfied with some old man in a dump like this.”

Lightning cracked behind Belle’s eyes. Gold had never seen her so angry, and it was as terrifying as it was exhilarating. 

“Gary, I think that’s enough, son,” Moe said, in an attempt to pacify him. Gary laughed.

“Oh c’mon Moe, I’m just saying what we’re all thinking.”

Belle’s expression was murderous. “It’s time for both of you to leave.”

“But sweetheart, we haven’t even eaten yet-” Moe started. Belle’s glare cut him off.

“This is my home, papa,” Belle said, firmly. “I have a job I love, people I love, a life that suits me here. I’m happy here. You don’t get to take that away from me because you disapprove. I tried to give you a chance but…”

“Belle,” Gold started, hoping she wouldn’t say something she couldn’t take back. Belle shook her head, swallowing hard.

“I tried to show you how great my life is here,” Belle said, softly. “You don’t understand, or you don’t want to. Either way, you should go now.”

She slipped out of the booth, and gestured for Moe to follow. Gold wondered if the other man noticed the slight wobble to her lip, the way her eyes gleamed wet and wavered. There was steel in Belle, no doubt about that, but she didn’t want to do this.

Moe deflated. “I only want to see you happy, sweetheart,” he said.

“That’s not what it looks like from here,” she said, quietly. 

“Do you really want us to leave?” Moe asked. Belle grit her teeth, but nodded.

“I do.”

“C’mon then, son,” Moe gestured to Gary. Gold pushed himself out of the booth to allow the younger man to leave. Gary towered over him, looming. Gold braced himself on his cane and prepared for battle.

Belle watched as Moe walked out of the diner door. Gold’s eyes were on her, watching as her hand twitched, her lips parting, wanting to call him back but knowing she couldn’t. 

Gary remained. Gold grit his teeth.

“You ought to get going, boy,” he said. “Before this fine establishment throws you out on your arse.”

“She won’t stay with you, you know,” Gary replied, with a nasty smile. “She’s high maintenance, and you won’t live up. I don’t care how you got a ring on her finger, she’ll find someone else soon enough.”

“If you’d prefer not to visit the ER tonight, I suggest you leave,” Gold snarled back. “You’re making everyone uncomfortable.”

Gary laughed, “Not me, mate,” he said. 

He swaggered out as if he’d won the war - limping just a little, which was gratifying. He tried to catch Belle as he left. She pushed him away.

“If you come back here I’m getting a restraining order,” Belle said. Gary didn’t reply - instead, he looked back at Gold.

“What’d I say, man?” he said, with a wink that made Gold want to beat his head in. “Passion.”

He left; the bell over the door jangled as he slammed it closed behind him. 

The assembled diners were all trying very hard not to look like they were staring. It was exactly the sort of scene Belle had feared would happen, and that he had hoped desperately to avoid. It was inevitable, he supposed.

Gold wanted to go to comfort Belle, but was cut off by Ruby launching herself around the counter. “What happened?”. 

Belle curled into Ruby’s embrace instantly, without pause. Gold withdrew, feeling as if a bucket of ice cold water had been thrown over him. The game was over. He was not her husband, not even really her friend: he had no place at her side in a time of need. Belle was bright and kind, and already had several good friends in town, all of whom better suited to taking care of her right now than he. 

He stepped back, into the shadows. If she saw, she didn’t notice. He suddenly felt unbearably weary, as if he had not slept in weeks. 

Time to return home, he assumed. Back into the gloom where he belonged. 

“C’mon, honey,” he heard Ruby say. She lead Belle away from the diner, into the inn. Gold sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Granny stood at the counter, watching the scene play out. “Alright, floor show’s over folks!” she called to her patrons. They grumbled to one another, a little ashamed to have been caught rubbernecking. Normal conversation resumed a moment later. Gold made his way to the counter.

“I’ll be covering the cheque, it seems,” he said. Granny cocked an eyebrow.

“At least I know you’re good for it,” she said. She took his credit card from him and began to put through the cheque. “So, you and Belle, huh?”

“Indeed,” Gold murmured, hoping not to be drawn into too deep a conversation about the issue. Even thinking of it exhausted him. Granny looked at him with a hard, frank stare.

“Relax, Gold,” she said. “Belle told Ruby everything, who told me everything.”

“Excuse me?” 

She sighed. “Look, the two of you are doing a good enough job of fooling most people, but Ruby and I have better noses than that.”

“You’re about to tell me you disapprove of my corrupting her with my dishonesty?” Gold needed a drink. Granny shook her head.

“I’m telling you it’s the only good thing i’ve ever seen you do,” Granny replied. “You did what was necessary to keep that girl here, where she belongs. I didn’t think you had it in you to do something kind for someone else.”

Gold felt the tips of his ears begin to burn. Something resembling a smile twitched at his lips.

The card machine beeped, and Granny handed Gold back his credit card. 

He turned to see where Belle had gotten to. Were Moe and Gary really leaving town, the charade would be of no use any longer. She was probably distraught, however, having suffered through the nightmare of a few moments ago. She would need a great deal of comfort from Ruby, and likely would want little to do with anyone involved, himself included.

He was her employer, in any event. The sooner he restored the boundaries between them, the sooner he would stop dreaming of tearing them down.

This was the best outcome, he told himself. They had shared all of one kiss, a prolonged hand-hold, and breakfast that morning. He had succeeded in hiding whatever ridiculous feelings he might have held for her, and she was safe from summary deportation by her father. This was the best possible world, and his loneliness was a small price to pay.

“Mrs Lucas, should Belle ask, please let her know I have dealt with the cheque and returned home.”

“Tell her yourself,” Granny replied. Gold smiled, thinly.

“I’m sure there’s no need to upset her further,” he said. “Goodnight, Mrs Lucas.”

He turned on his heel and left.

\---

It was late, when Gold awoke in his chair with a crick in his neck.

He was far too old to be sleeping in his armchair, he thought as he straightened up. His glass was still half-full. After the emotional maelstrom of the previous evening, he had thought he needed to drink his troubles away. He had sat down in his chair, and tried to erase the memory of Belle’s soft hand in his, her bright blue eyes when she smiled at him, and the brief hours he had been allowed - even falsely - to call her his.

She would be grateful, he presumed, when she returned from her annual leave. Hopefully their friendship would continue. He was well aware, however, that he had been far more invested in their little charade than she was. Not wanting to return to Australia with the delightful Gary Aston was a far cry from wanting to be with Gold himself.

It was better, safer, that he gracefully step back now before he embarrassed himself. She felt safe with him. Perhaps he even filled the space in her life where her father should have been. She was the only person who had ever trusted him - ever liked him - without ulterior motive or blind necessity. He couldn’t bear to spoil it.

Now he was awake, and regret was roiling in his gut. Maybe he could leave her to run the shop for a few months and go elsewhere, returning only when the library was ready and she was out of his employ. 

She wouldn’t come back this evening, that much was for certain. Her father and Greg had left town, so there was no reason to keep pretending. The thought of not seeing her was painful, but seeing her would only hurt worse. 

His neck was protesting, but something more than that physical discomfort had awoken him. There was a noise coming from some way off, and it persisted.

Gold’s eyes cracked open, his sense of the world around him returning. Someone was knocking on his door - pounding, even.

Groggily, Gold hauled himself to his feet, braced heavily on his cane. His mouth tasted as if something had died in it. Who in Gods name would be pounding on his door at this time of night?

The dark thought occurred that it could be Greg, come to enact revenge. But there was someone calling out, and it wasn’t a deep masculine voice.

“Rum? Are you home?”

Belle.

Gold opened the door, and there she was: small and perfect as ever, her eyes bright and cheeks flushed. 

“Can I help, dearie?” he asked, wearily. He didn’t know what more he could do for her, what more she could possibly ask. 

“You just left,” Belle said, sounding so small and sad he wished he had never gotten out of his chair. “You didn’t get your dinner and I didn’t get to thank you.”

“It’s no matter,” he said, waving a hand. “Good help is hard to find, worth a little extra effort.”

“Of course,” Belle nodded, swallowing hard. The fight with her father must have really knocked the wind from her, because she looked heartbroken. “Well, I thought you should have these.”

She brandished what she was carrying. He saw then that she held four heavy brown paper bags bearing Granny’s logo. “You paid for two cheeseburgers, a lasagne, and an avocado burger,” she said.

“I paid so as to prevent Mrs Lucas from being out of pocket,” he said, working so hard not to be charmed by her, failing on all fronts. She would never love him, he thought brutally, and until that thought stopped hurting, he shouldn’t be around her. “The old wolf would take the money plus interest off this month’s rent payment, and I would be in no position to argue.”

“Okay,” Belle sank back down again, her arms dropping to her sides. “Rum…”

“Yes, dearie?” he hated that nickname. He adored that nickname. He’d love hearing it, if it meant what he wanted to mean. But it didn’t, couldn’t, never would. 

“Did I do something to upset you?” she asked. He opened his mouth to assure her of course not, she could never do anything to upset him, when she barrelled on, fire warming her soft voice. “Because I apologised for that stupid lie a hundred times and you know it was the heat of the moment, and if you had wanted out all you had to do was tell them the truth or tell me or something, so it seems really rather childish to hide here and sulk if you really feel that way!”

“Belle, I-”

“No, let me finish!” she said, clearly on a roll. He clamped his jaw shut. “I’m just… I’m really confused by all these bloody mixed messages!”

“Mixed messages?” he asked, completely mystified and utterly enthralled. She was lightning when she was angry, bright and sharp, and he was electrified. 

“Yes!” she threw up her hands, still holding all that ridiculous food. “We flirt like teenagers at work, so when I ask you to the christmas party you say yes and I think great, yes, finally something might happen… but then nothing did happen. And I figured fine, whatever, clearly it’s all in my head, but then that kiss happened...”

“I’m sorry, what?” he blinked, feeling the fool. What on Earth was she talking about? He was always a perfect gentleman in the workplace, and she had only invited him out of pity that he was going alone. 

“Don’t give me that!” she snapped. “I’ve had more than enough of stupid men for one night.” She sighed, deflating. “Why did you leave?” she asked. “I turned around and you were gone.”

“Your father and suitor had left,” Gold replied. “I was just surplus.”

Belle bit her lip, and shook her head. “For a very clever man you’re remarkably stupid,” she said. He couldn’t disagree. She looked at him for a long moment, and he couldn’t imagine what she was searching for in his eyes, but whatever it was she didn’t seem to see it. “It’s okay,” she said. “Forget it.”

“Belle…” Gold forced himself to look her in the eye, and did the bravest thing he’d ever done. “Why did you lie and say we were married?”

“I… I don’t know,” she admitted. “I knew I had to say something… and I guess I wanted to know what it would be like.”

“What what would be like?” Gold pressed, wild hope burning in his chest but needing her to say it, needing to know. He had stepped closer, out onto the porch. Their breath steamed between them, but Gold didn’t feel the cold so close to her.

“Being with you,” Belle admitted, her eyes searching his. 

Gold swallowed, hard. “And was it everything you hoped?” he asked, trying to sound light and failing miserably. 

Belle nodded. Gold was spellbound.

“I’d been wondering for months,” she admitted. “You never say anything but I… I just feel something when I’m with you. A connection. Sometimes you’re looking at me and I swear you can feel it too.”

Gold nodded, dumbfounded. He did. He felt it: a connection to her. Her eyes flicked down to his mouth again, and this time he didn’t find an excuse. This time he let himself hope she was remembering their kiss, as it had haunted him.

Their eyes met. Gold felt something run down his spine, like live current. The heat radiating from her warmed through his bones and into his cold, dark soul, lighting places that had not seen sun in decades. It felt as though the world held its breath.

He could not say who closed the gap at last, but her mouth was on his, and her lips parted, and Gold’s whole body sang. Her mouth caressed his, tongue dipping out to play with his, and he clutched her close, the bags of food thumping against his back as she wrapped her arms around him. 

Belle was kissing him. There was no one to see, no one to lie to: Belle was kissing him because Belle wanted to kiss him. 

Gold pulled her inside with him, mouth still covering hers, and closed the door behind her.


End file.
